The Final Frontier
by jambajunkie
Summary: Following a batarian attack, a critically injured Commander Shepard and a prototype vessel called the Normandy are discovered by a passing turian patrol. Eventually Shepard is brought to the Citadel to heal, and meets C-Sec officer Garrus Vakarian. AU in which there was never a First Contact War, and Shepard is the first human to reach the Citadel. Eventual Shakarian.
1. Chapter 1

What if there had been no first contact?

The Final Frontier is an AU Mass Effect fanfic in which humanity developed separately from the rest of the galaxy and there was never a First Contact War. Following a batarian attack on the edge of the Sol system, a critically injured Commander Shepard and a prototype vessel called the Normandy are discovered by a turian patrol. Eventually Shepard is brought to the Citadel, where she meets Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec officer.

Eventual Shakarian. This is a kink meme fill.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything. I'm just borrowing them to play with.

Reviews and feedback are much appreciated. This story is also cross-posted to the kink meme and to Tumblr with username masseffectfinalfrontier. Enjoy!

* * *

"_Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations…to boldly go where no man has gone before."_

Out of the surrounding speakers, a cheerful and familiar theme started to play. Several crewmembers seated around the screen started humming or whistling along, and a few swayed playfully in time with the music. From where she stood watching the enraptured crew, Commander Shepard shook her head in amusement. Star Trek was about two hundred years old, and somehow it never got old.

"To boldly go where no man has gone before," Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko mused from his seat, front and center in the mess hall, converted into a makeshift theater. "Just like what we're doing, except, no aliens," he added, mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Guess we should be happy about that."

"Give me a break, Lieutenant," Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams retorted sarcastically from the far side of the hall. Williams shot Alenko a mischievous grin. "Everyone knows you've got all the Star Trek novels downloaded on your datapad. But I'm sure you didn't sign up for a tour in space just to _read_ about aliens!"

Alenko ducked his head and chuckled sheepishly. "Guilty as charged, Chief. I like an adventure as much as anyone. But if we do run into aliens, let's hope it's the nice kind. Command won't be happy if we bring their new ship back covered in dents."

"Not happening, Lieutenant," an indignant voice came over the intercom. "I'm not letting anyone scratch up my new baby!"

Shepard smirked. It had been a competitive process, selecting the right pilot for this ship, and while Joker reminded everyone about his credentials daily, he was nevertheless feeling protective. "Relax, Joker," Shepard said reassuringly. "Just a test flight, out to Pluto and back. Nothing fancy."

This was no ordinary spacecraft. Christened the S.S. Normandy, she was a highly advanced prototype, combining an innovative new drive core with countless design improvements. As a result, they could travel at speeds that were previously unheard of. The Normandy was capable of making the trip from Earth to Pluto's moon, Charon, in merely two weeks; other ships could barely hope to do so in two months. The Normandy was, as people often said, an example of what different countries could accomplish when working together. And at least for this trip, she was Joker's responsibility. And Shepard's, of course.

It was supposed to be a vacation of sorts for Shepard – a reward, even. After a grueling six-month assignment in sub-Saharan Africa that ended with her single-handedly holding off a terrorist attack – earning her a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and a Star of Terra – a leisurely cruise through the Sol system sounded like a wonderful change of pace. Humanity had made incredible strides in spaceflight in the last fifty years, with many great nations committing resources and manpower to expanding into this final frontier. Already there were growing settlement on Luna and Mars, and recent advances in spacecraft technology would advance the rate at which progress could be made.

Shepard was proud to be a part of this mission, no matter how simple. Of course, there was another part of her that was just like Kaidan. Few people in the Alliance military knew that the great Commander Shepard had once been a skinny orphan living on the streets of New York City. Even fewer knew that to pass the time between runs with the Tenth Street Reds, she'd lifted ancient science fiction novels from sidewalk stands and read them by the dim lights of the subway tunnels where she'd often slept. She'd come a long way, but old habits died hard – and old dreams, too.

Shepard glanced up at the clock display. Space was an unending expanse of darkness, but here on the Normandy they maintained the conventions of observing day and night, and it was almost night time. "Don't stay up too late, people," she called as she headed toward the elevator, intending to get some rest.

"You're not staying, Skipper? It's a good episode."

Shepard grinned. "Don't need to. I know 'em all by heart already."

Behind her, the elevator doors closed on the sound of the crew's laughter.

* * *

An hour later, Shepard was woken up by an insistent ping from her comm system. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she glared at the flashing red light and squinted at the clock display on the counter nearby. She shook off her irritation and took a deep, calming breath before hitting the comm.

"What's going on?"

"Commander…you might want to come down and see this." Joker's voice. She wondered briefly if the crippled pilot ever slept. She'd never seen him leave his chair, although Vrolik's Syndrome made it difficult for him to move around without injuring something.

"Can you elaborate?"

"I've…never seen anything like it," Joker added unhelpfully.

Shepard rolled her eyes. "It'd better be good, Joker," she muttered.

"Let's just say I wouldn't disturb the Commander's beauty rest just for any old space junk," the pilot quipped before closing the link. Shepard stumbled across her small room to the closet, throwing on the first thing she could find – her fatigues. After a quick splash of water on her face, she headed down the elevator.

Night shifts on the Normandy were manned by a rotating skeleton crew, but to Shepard's surprise few of the assigned crewmembers were at their stations. Instead, most were gathered in the cockpit. She got a few distracted salutes as she approached, then stopped, rubbed her eyes and stared.

Outside the window was what appeared to be a pointed, glowing…thing. It was huge, and…well, Shepard mentally forgave Joker his earlier lapse in elocution as she didn't really know how to describe it either. It was a sleek, smooth shape and she could see flickering bands of light along the surface. The most prominent feature, however, was a glowing orb of energy pulsing in the center, orbited by two rotating discs.

It was, in its own way, quite elegant, but Shepard mentally set aside aesthetic value and her brow furrowed suspiciously. "That thing doesn't look natural," she muttered. "Joker, comm Pressly and see if he knows anything about it."

"Aye-aye, Commander. Pressly, you awake?"

The navigation officer, like Shepard, woke up fully when he saw the strange landmark. "I've never heard of anything like it," Pressly admitted. "To be honest, I don't think any of our ships have physically been on this side of Charon yet. We're in uncharted territory, really."

By this time, word of the anomaly had spread in the crew quarters, and other members of the crew were joining them in the cockpit, Alenko and Williams among them. After letting them look their fill, Shepard instructed those on duty to return to their posts, as the bridge was starting to get a little crowded.

"That bright center…it's giving me a headache." Alenko murmured, frowning. "I wonder who built that thing."

"Maybe your aliens?" Williams teased. But the comment hung in the air heavily. She'd voiced their unspoken thoughts; there wasn't really an alternative explanation but that some alien life form had constructed this piece of – of technology, or art, or weapon, or whatever it was – and left it hanging here. From the looks of it, Shepard thought, whatever alien had built the structure must have been pretty advanced.

"Alright," Shepard muttered. She was so _not _trained to deal with alien artifacts suddenly appearing in the middle of space, but she could improvise. "Pressly, note our coordinates and send a message back to Alliance Command about this discovery. Give them a good visual. Joker, hold position. We don't really know what that thing is, so don't get any closer if you can help it."

"I can help it, Commander. Staying put."

"Good. And the rest of you…check our systems and see if this thing is causing any reactions from the ship. Keep monitoring for signs of irregularity, big or small."

A chorus of "Aye-aye, ma'am" and a flurry of salutes answered her, and the crew hastened to follow her instructions. Shepard turned around to gaze out at the strange artifact once more.

_Guess we're not alone out there after all._

* * *

It took time for messages this far out in space to reach Alliance Command. As a child, Shepard remembered reading about the Mars Rover expeditions at the beginning of the 21st century, and how it took three days for each directive to reach the little wheeled machines that roamed the surface of the red planet, 50 million miles away from Earth. Today, from Pluto – three billion miles away – it took just a few hours, but it still meant that like the rovers of days past, the Normandy could be effectively operating alone for long periods of time.

There hadn't yet been any reports of irregularities from the crew monitoring the ship, so Shepard awaited her orders. When they came, they didn't surprise her. _"Shepard, we don't know what this is. We've never seen anything like it. But the Normandy is the only ship we've got in a position to investigate. It would be a while before we can get someone else out there. So try to learn what you can from it, but don't take any unnecessary risks. Hackett out."_

Well, there it was. She announced it to the assembled crew, getting a round of cheers in response – Alenko wasn't the only one with a taste for space adventures – and then stood on the bridge as Joker maneuvered the Normandy carefully around the structure.

"I'm getting some kind of power reading from the center, Commander," one of the crewmembers reported. "It seems like those discs are generating energy. And I'm getting a sign of some kind of electrical current…"

The Normandy inched closer.

"Okay, a huge electrical current," the crew member amended. "And it's…messing with our systems."

"Pull back, Joker," Shepard called out, and the pilot obeyed.

From his seat next to Joker, where he was studying system readouts, Alenko suddenly made a noise. "The stuff in the middle…I think it might be element zero," he said tentatively.

"What's that?" Shepard looked at him, startled.

"You were still holed up in Africa when it happened, Commander. But recently, they discovered an element on Mars that can shrink mass when you apply an electric current to it. It's possible that this current might be designed to do the same thing. That blue stuff looks like element zero…and the readouts I'm getting are indicating fluctuations consistent with that effect."

"Seems like being a sci-fi geek is useful," Williams commented.

"Seems like," Shepard agreed thoughtfully, as Alenko turned pink.

"How come she never listens when _I_ explain things?" Joker teased.

They sent their observations and conjectures back to Alliance Command, and stood by, awaiting further instruction. Shepard wasn't about to risk the lives of her crew getting closer to that thing without at least some knowledge of its purpose or some backup. In the meantime, excitement mounted as crewmembers talked among themselves, throwing around personal theories.

In the midst of the noise, Alenko suddenly called her over. "I'm getting some indicators of activity, Commander," he said, pointing to a graph that was displaying a clear recent distortion. "It looks like the current's suddenly powered up."

As Shepard looked out at the glowing structure, she noticed that the blue core had started to flicker and pulse. Suddenly, the discs orbiting the core began picking up speed. There was a blinding flash and she reflexively covered her eyes. When she opened them again, there was something else there, floating next to the structure.

No one said a word as they stared, stunned, wondering what had just happened. Shepard moved closer to the front of the cockpit, and then she realized, that new thing now floating in front of them looked like... "Is that…a ship?"

"Yeah…think so," Joker answered. "A strange one. I know every ship in the Navy…and that is _not_ one of ours. But how the heck does a ship suddenly appear out of nowhere?"

"It's that element zero structure," Alenko breathed. "It must be some kind of…galactic slingshot. That ship could be from anywhere in the galaxy."

Suddenly, the new ship turned – right towards the Normandy.

"Whoa!" Shepard exhaled. There were similar exclamations of alarm among the crew, and then silence, as Shepard held up a hand.

"Orders, Skipper?" Williams stood tensely behind Alenko, eyes trained on the ship.

"Stay calm. We don't know what they want. We don't know anything about them. And without any backup or information, we are _not _going to be the first to tangle with them." Shepard studied the ship, and wondered briefly if whoever was inside had built that element zero structure as well. If so, the Normandy was clearly outclassed. "Joker, if that thing gets one step closer to us, get us the hell out of here."

She thumbed the intercom. "All personnel back at stations. Pressly, get a message back to Command ASAP. We've encountered a vessel of unknown origin. Do not engage, I repeat, do not engage. At first sign of any hostilities we will take evasive action." After a pause, she added, "Any crewmembers with camera functions on your consoles, set to record now. If anything happens, we need to ensure that some record of this gets back to Command."

As they watched, there was a sudden movement from the other ship. The vessel began to glide towards them, like a shark intent on the kill. Front panels were sliding open to reveal turrets, and – was that a _harpoon?_

_Well, that makes things a little clearer. _"Joker, get us the _fuck_ out of here before that thing shoots us!"

"Yes, ma'am!" The pilot's fingers flashed in a flurry of movement. The Normandy lurched, causing everyone to stumble – and began to move away. But suddenly, there was a flash of fire and an explosion, causing the ship to rock.

"They're shooting!" Williams shouted.

And then in a burst of movement, two harpoons shot towards the Normandy, and embedded themselves into its side.

Emergency lights began to flicker and alarms began to blare. "Hull breach in the lower cargo hold!" someone shouted over the klaxons. A couple of crewmembers screamed hysterically, but most of them just looked lost and scared. Most of them were Navy technical specialists; Alenko, Williams and Shepard were the only Marines with any real crisis training.

Shepard took a moment to close her eyes and breathe, suppressing her own panic and considering her options. The odds did not look good. The Normandy was armed with conventional defense systems, but it was certainly _not _designed for space combat against alien invaders. Their best chances at survival still lay in escape, if they could dislodge the projectiles. That was assuming, of course, that the Normandy could even outrun the enemy vessel once freed.

If not…well, then the best they could do would be to buy enough time to get a message out to Command, and warn them, and to get as many people into rescue pods as possible. Even then, the possibility of actual rescue was bleak. They were out by Pluto – and the nearest Alliance outpost was on Mars. But if they could get messages out, maybe someone would be able to pick them up.

She exhaled and hit the intercom.

"Alright, everyone. Listen to me and stay calm. We're under attack. The enemy ship has attached itself to us with harpoons. If we remain stuck to them, our chances aren't very good. Our priority is to detach, disengage and escape intact. But if it becomes clear that we cannot avoid engaging the enemy, our priority then is to get a message out to Command and warn them about these aliens. Pressly, do whatever you can to make sure this message goes out."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"While the message goes out, we're going to fight as hard as we can. I need everyone in space suits immediately as a precaution. Everyone who can use a weapon, have one by your side at all times." At that, there was a flurry of activity as people began reaching for their suits. She continued. "Alenko, Williams, I need you two to head down into the lower cargo hold and try to dislodge those harpoons manually if we can't do so from the bridge."

Alenko and Williams saluted her and headed off.

"All of you are familiar with the choke points on this ship in case of a hostile landing party. All noncombatants will evacuate first into the two rearmost rescue pods. Save the closer pods for others."

Shepard paused, and took one more calming breath. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the very first encounter that humanity has ever had with an alien life form. This is a historic moment, although it may not be going the way we'd all hoped. Nevertheless, I want each and every one of you to know that no matter what happens, it's been an honor to serve with you."

The enemy ship continued to fire. Shepard looked around, acknowledging salutes and unflinchingly meeting the gazes of her crewmembers – brave, innocent men and women who wore the knowledge of their own deaths on their faces. She saluted them back. Another lurching movement, and the enemy ship began slowly reeling the Normandy in with the harpoons.

Shepard ruthlessly pushed away the fear in her gut.

"Now, get ready," she said, eyes narrowed. "Looks like they're heading our way…and they don't look friendly."

* * *

_Three Days Later_

"Nihlus, you're going to want to see this."

"What is it?" The turian Spectre stepped forward into the cockpit. Nihlus' ship was currently patrolling the Arcturus system, as he'd recently received news of batarian slaver activity in the region. It was strange for batarians to operate so far outside the Terminus systems, and he had been dispatched to investigate.

Nihlus's brow plates lifted at the sight before him. The Arcturus Relay. It had lain dormant for centuries by Council decree. But one glance at the glowing eezo core and it was clear that this relay was no longer dormant. The ship's pilot, Quintus, glanced down at his console, scanning the notes that holographically appeared before him. "It was activated not too long ago," Quintus reported, his dual-toned voice flanging low in disapproval. "Last patrol was just over a week ago and they reported nothing wrong. Maybe your batarians opened it and went through here after that."

Nihlus cursed. The Council would not be pleased. It was forbidden to activate dormant relays, for fear of unleashing unknown horrors – rachni, yahg, and who knew what else – on the galactic community. He turned and headed for the comm room. "Put me through to the Council."

He returned not long after, grim-faced, with his orders: to take his ship through the newly opened relay and investigate. No contact was to be made; it was merely a survey, the Councilors had stressed. The memory of the Yahg debacle was still too fresh in the Council's memory; no one wanted a repeat of the same incident that had left several of their ambassadors massacred.

No, they were not about to unleash another possibly aggressive species onto the galactic stage, but they couldn't let the batarians do so either. As one of the Council's top Spectres, Nihlus was trusted to perform the operation with utmost discretion. He called for his XO and a couple of other officers to join him on the bridge, then gave a quick briefing. "The Council has authorized us to go through the Arcturus Relay and look for signs of batarian slaver activity. We don't know yet what we'll find on the other side, so be prepared for anything. But we are under orders to observe only. No engagement if possible."

Just in case, Nihlus and several officers suited up and grabbed weapons. It was always much more comforting in unknown situations to be armed and armored, Nihlus thought. When the team of turians reconvened, he gave Quintus the signal to commence signal transmission and approach the mass relay.

When they got through to the other side, they were greeted by the sight of a derelict spaceship, adrift. Nihlus' eyes narrowed. "Move in closer."

As they approached the ship, it became immediately obvious that it had been attacked. Large sections of the side panels had been shot off, exposing sections of severed cables. "Spirits," the pilot muttered. "Looks like batarians got this thing. Look at the marks on the hull – looks just like punctures from Batarian harpoons."

"Slavers," Nihlus agreed. "But that doesn't look like any ship I've ever seen," he observed. "Certainly not a Council design. Give it a scan. Tell me if you find anything."

There was a pause as the pilot tapped a series of keys on the console, followed by a hum as the scanners began. "I'm picking up some kind of signal, but it's very fuzzy," Quintus muttered. He turned up the volume, and they heard some kind of fuzzy transmission, a jabbering of desperate, rapid speech in an unknown language, punctuated by the sound of screams and explosions.

Then, there was a rapid beeping from the scanners.

"Nihlus," Quintus said, "there's something still alive in there."

Nihlus bent down to study the console more closely. Sure enough, there was a faint signal indicating a life form, a red spot pulsing on the console diagram. Very faint. "Barely alive," Nihlus observed. "The batarians might have accidentally left a survivor." Reaching over Quintus' shoulder, he tapped a few keys, and a schematic of the vessel's structure came into view. In what appeared to be the command center, there was the outline of a figure, red life sign indicator still flashing. It lay crumpled in a corner, behind the cover of a downed console. It looked like it had been fighting for its life.

Quintus hummed in consideration, then looked to Nihlus. "What should we do, sir?"

Nihlus bowed his head for a moment. He had orders, yes. _Observation only, _the Council had instructed. But his eyes kept going back to that red dot on the screen. From the sounds of the distress signal, it wasn't a yahg or rachni, at least. Plus, whatever it was, it was clearly only barely alive, so the threat would be minimal. And if he was going to abandon someone on the brink of death at the edge of space, he at least wanted to know who it was.

Nihlus pushed the button for the intercom. "Ground team, get ready. We're going to board and take a look." He nodded down to Quintus. "Have the medbay prepared. If it doesn't look too dangerous, we'll bring it back to the Citadel. Maybe when it wakes up, it can give us more leads on the batarians we're looking for."

"Yes, sir."

Nihlus turned around and headed towards the airlock. "Besides," he muttered to himself, "if it survived a batarian attack, it probably deserves to live."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything.

This story is also cross-posted to the kink meme and to Tumblr with username masseffectfinalfrontier.

Enjoy, and thanks as always for reading and your feedback.

* * *

It was nighttime on the Citadel, and the back alleys of the Wards were quiet, save for the distant echo of a thumping rhythm from Chora's Den. A Keeper moved gracefully down the corridor, spidery green legs making soft skittering noises against the smooth floors. From far off, the rotund silhouette of a volus appeared, accompanied by the sound of his heavy, envirosuit-supported breaths. The volus tiptoed into a dimly lit alcove, looked nervously around him, and then glanced down at the message on his omni-tool.

_Unexpected discovery. Offloading cargo at aforementioned drop point. Additional funding required for maintenance of cargo going forward. Please remit. _There was a figure that followed.

The volus hesitated, fingers trembling in mid-air, before returning a simple message. _Funding approved. _A few more keystrokes and the transfer was complete.

The volus sighed heavily, the sound magnified by his breather. He didn't know what this unexpected discovery was. In fact, up until now, he didn't know that this venture was anything outside the usual business – distilling and distributing a certain substance now popular on the Citadel as a recreational drug. At the time, all he had cared about was that his partner had promised that as usual, the investment would reap significant financial rewards.

But maintenance of cargo? What did that mean? Their usual cargo never needed any kind of maintenance, as far as he knew. Something else must have gone down, and as an investor, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He keyed in a swift addendum to his previous message: _Requesting clarification immediately. _Then he continued down the hallway, hastening his steps.

Unbeknownst to him, he was not alone. Crouched behind a stack of crates further down the hallway, a sniper in a C-Sec uniform sighted his target through his scope.

Dominated as it was by turians, C-Sec was accordingly a microcosm of turian society in general, with each of its two hundred thousand plus agents working in a capacity that most effectively utilized his or her individual talents, and with promotions awarded based on performance. C-Sec staffers assigned agents to specific roles based on a thorough evaluation of personal and combat strengths that involved written, oral, field and combat testing.

When Garrus Vakarian had completed this regimen of testing, he had summarily defied categorization. The staffers were unsure of what to make of him, a bundle of contradictory characteristics that were all useful in different ways. According to military training reports, Garrus had simultaneously been the best close-quarters hand-to-hand specialist and the top-ranked long-range sniper in his unit. His commanding officers praised his ability to intuitively understand high-level tactics and trends, while also noting an almost disturbing preoccupation with smaller-scale analytics (especially when it came to calibrating weaponry, one CO added). Personality-wise, Garrus was no easier to place. Although he was kind and easy-going, and clearly harbored the reserve of near-infinite patience needed to thrive as a sniper, he was just as often reckless and impatient, and openly questioned orders that he deemed unsatisfactory. In the end, the frustrated C-Sec staffers had done the unthinkable and given Garrus the freedom to choose his assignment himself. And ultimately, with his original dream of Spectrehood denied, Garrus decided to follow in his father's footsteps and accordingly assigned himself to Investigations. After all, anyone could shoot a gun (perhaps not as stylishly, of course) but it took something special to crack the most unsolvable crimes on the Citadel.

That, Garrus decided, was how he was going to make a real difference.

As a C-Sec investigator, Garrus spent most of his days finding and analyzing evidence (which he enjoyed) and filing reports about it (which he did not). These days he'd been following a frustratingly elusive trail related to the appearance of a new form of drug that had spread among the Wards. While small doses led mostly to pleasant feelings and erotic hallucinations, giving the drug an enthusiastic user base, prolonged exposure to the substance led to more unpleasant physiological responses. Specifically, the drug acted like some kind of hyper-adrenaline, forcing the body into overdrive while disregarding normal physiological needs like hunger, thirst or sleep. There were already over a dozen cases of drug users who'd abused the substance to the point of death. And C-Sec already had more than its share of twitchy, horny, sleep-deprived addicts currently undergoing forced detoxification in a special holding area.

Garrus' current assignment was to locate and eliminate the supplier. After a frustrating week of undercover investigation, analyzing off-world credit transactions and decrypting classified data streams, he had finally seen a pattern begin to emerge. And now, he'd finally found the trail that had led to this volus – Pitne For, according to the C-Sec civilian database. It was unlikely that Pitne For was the supplier himself, but more likely a financial partner in the scheme, and Garrus needed Pitne For's records to finally get to the drug's source.

Now, he was here, in position, and Pitne For was coming down the hall alone. It was time for some real answers. Through the scope, Garrus' ice blue eyes noted the volus' jerky movements and nervous breathing. Garrus' facial plates, splashed with his cobalt family markings, shifted into an anticipatory grin. All his work was about to pay off.

This, thought Garrus, was the best part about being a C-Sec agent.

As Pitne For strode by, Garrus stood up to his full six-and-a-half foot height, rifle still trained on the volus' head. "Freeze and put your hands up in the air."

Pitne For froze, and his hands shot up. Garrus slowly stepped out from around the crates. The volus' breaths had suddenly gotten a lot shallower. Garrus gave a casual tilt of his head. "C-Sec," he identified himself.

"Um…" the volus wheezed. "H-hello. C-can I help you, officer?"

"You can help me by handing over that omni-tool."

"O-oh…umm…" the volus floundered.

At that moment, Pitne For's omni-tool rang loudly with an incoming call. The ringtone was the theme from _Blasto the Jellyfish Stings_, Garrus noted absently. The volus stared up at him in terror.

"You gonna answer that?" Garrus asked, smirking.

"Uh…" the volus' finger crept towards the button and pushed it hesitantly. At once, an angry and distinctly batarian voice came over the omni-tool's sound system.

"Clarification? What do _you_ need clarification for, volus? All you need to know is – "

"Sorry, bad time!" Pitne For immediately slammed his finger down on the button again, ending the call. Then, panicking, he began to run for it.

Garrus rolled his eyes and raised the rifle back to his shoulder, sighting through the scope. Volus envirosuit failures could be catastrophically fatal, and Garrus was not aiming to kill; just to – well, slow the volus down a little bit and prevent him from running off. It was a well-known fact that once a volus fell down, it took an exceedingly long time for him to get up again – enough time for Garrus to snap a pair of C-Sec issued handcuffs around the short arms. So, concussive rounds only. Garrus watched with satisfaction as the center of the volus' squat body lined up perfectly in the crosshairs.

But Pitne For's panic made him clumsy, and the volus unexpectedly slipped on the smooth tile. By this time, Garrus' finger had already depressed the rifle's trigger. The concussive round burst forth from the mouth of the gun. And as Pitne For overbalanced, hands flailing wildly in the air, the concussive round just missed the flat of the volus' back – only to collide with his left wrist, smashing into the omni-tool's controls.

The volus wailed in shock and terror as the omni-tool exploded.

"Oh, crap_," _Garrus muttered. This was not good. He had just violated the first rule of C-Sec Investigations: do not tamper with the evidence.

Well, the evidence had just exploded right in front of his face.

* * *

_The Next Day_

"What do you mean, _you let him go_?"

Executor Pallin looked down at Garrus coolly. "I'm sorry, Officer Vakarian, but given the lack of evidence, we could not justify holding him in custody. Consequently, we've released him."

Garrus' fists clenched. "I spent the last week on that case," he snarled. "All the financial trails pointed to him and his partner. I was _this _close to uncovering the supplier!"

"Well, thanks to you, we have no actual proof. You actually _destroyed _the evidence," Pallin spat. "Do you know what an embarrassment this is?"

"It was a _freak accident,_" Garrus retorted. "You couldn't have held him for _questioning, _at least? He was a prime suspect!"

Palin was shaking his head in exasperation. "Vakarian, this has the potential to be a public relations nightmare for C-Sec. For all intents and purposes, you _shot_ an unarmed civilian on a _whim_. We are extremely lucky that he has agreed not to go to the media with this debacle."

"And now he's going to run off to Omega or Illium, and we're going to have to start from scratch, just because you were afraid of bad press!" Garrus retorted, subharmonics rumbling with rage.

"That's _enough_, Officer Vakarian!" Pallin reprimanded sharply. "This is not the first time that you've exhibited this kind of reckless behavior. Such conduct is unbecoming of a C-Sec officer and needs to be addressed. Your assignment is going to be transferred to another investigator and you are going to be removed from the field and assigned to guard duties."

"_What_?" Garrus hissed, mandibles flaring in agitation. Guard duty was the C-Sec equivalent of mess hall cleaning, or washing lavatories. It was incredibly embarrassing for a member of Investigations to be reduced to guard duty. With his luck, he'd be stuck standing outside the detox ward, watching the very people he would have helped had that idiot volus not slipped.

"I'm sorry, Vakarian," Pallin said, not sounding sorry at all. "You'll be reporting in first thing tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

This, thought Garrus, was the worst part about being a C-Sec agent.

* * *

Evening found Garrus at the shooting range, emptying rounds into a volus-shaped paper target. There was something comforting and mindless about shooting; the familiar weight and heft of the rifle, its reassuring solidness against his shoulder, the satisfaction of the explosion as the bullet sped through the air. What Garrus really wanted was to give Pitne For a solid punch to the face, but the gun range was an adequate option for stress relief when nothing else was available.

It wasn't even close to the first time he'd been reprimanded by Executor Pallin, but it _was_ the first time he'd been relegated to guard duty as a punishment. The insult rankled. Trainees who fumbled and accidentally dropped their guns down laundry chutes were given guard duty. First-years who got themselves caught on camera going overboard at night clubs were given guard duty. Investigators like Garrus Vakarian did _not _get put on guard duty. But worst of all, the drug supplier was still at large. And as of tomorrow, Garrus was going to be standing in front of a door twiddling his talons while more lives were ruined.

A wave of rage came over him and he began firing into the paper volus' head. Ten shots sounded in succession before the click of an empty magazine. Garrus looked up at the target; ten shots, and just one smoking hole to show for them. He smirked, patting his rifle.

A sound from his omni-tool got his attention, and he glanced down at his wrist. It was Chellick, one of his colleagues. Flicking the safety on his gun, he set the rifle aside. "Chellick?"

"Vakarian, hey. Sorry for the interruption, but we need you down here at the Academy ASAP. I know you're not scheduled to be on duty until tomorrow morning, but something's come up."

Garrus immediately began to pack away his sniper rifle. "What's going on?"

"Nihlus is back, and apparently he's found something strange."

"Nihlus?" Garrus' subvocals thrummed in confusion. Nihlus was a Council Spectre, and C-Sec generally didn't play well with Spectres. "What does Nihlus have to do with us?"

"Don't know the details yet. But Nihlus brought back something, and the Council wants us to be involved in case it becomes a security hazard."

"Great." He remembered briefly the last time this happened. An asari Spectre had tried to bring a pyjak onto the Citadel, claiming it was a pet. She'd run into trouble with C-Sec Customs, of course, but the pyjak was eventually allowed in her personal apartments (on Spectre authority, of course). Mere hours later it escaped, and ended up being a menace, raising public health concerns due to the souvenirs it generously left behind wherever it went. For weeks, shops reported thefts, mostly of food and small shiny items, like wing nuts, rings and the occasional weapon part. (Garrus suspected that part of the rise in thievery rates had also been due to real thieves blaming the pyjak for their own crimes.) Ultimately the rogue pyjak was hunted down and shot by another Spectre, thankfully taking the issue out of C-Sec's hands. "Did they say what they wanted me for?" Garrus asked Chellick as he exited the shooting range.

Chellick coughed. "Ah…um, well, they needed a guard, and Pallin said that you're up next for guard duty."

Garrus groaned. "Be right down."

* * *

To his surprise, when he arrived at C-Sec Academy, the entire Council was present, along with the Executor and a handful of other senior C-Sec agents, including Chellick. _Must be serious, _Garrus thought, exchanging greetings with his colleagues. He met Executor Pallin's gaze somewhat defiantly, but Pallin simply gave a brisk nod back; he was all business.

Looking around, Garrus noticed another unexpected person – a salarian in a white lab coat typing furiously on his omni-tool in the corner. Dr. Mordin Solus, if Garrus remembered correctly. Currently the salarian was doing xenobiology research on the Citadel, but according to his file, he was also a former STG member.

And then Nihlus entered, and most of the chatter stopped. The Spectre's expression was grim – when did Nihlus ever _not_ look grim? Garrus wondered distractedly – and he briskly saluted the Council before turning to address the expectant group.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Nihlus began. "First of all, this is highly classified, and I need each and every one of you to behave with the utmost discretion until the situation is resolved."

Garrus gave his assent along with the others. His curiosity was growing by the moment.

Nihlus began to pace as he spoke. "As some already know, several days ago, I took a ship out to the Arcturus system on some reports of batarian slaver activity. We found that the Arcturus relay had been activated against Council orders." He waited for the disquieted murmuring to fade before continuing. "With permission, we traversed the relay. On the other side, we discovered a disabled spacecraft that had clearly been attacked by batarians. And on that ship, we found a survivor. We rescued the survivor, salvaged as much tech and supplies as we could, and returned approximately one hour ago."

_Batarians…bad news, _Garrus thought. He thought briefly of the batarian voice that he'd heard coming from Pitne For's omni-tool earlier. Batarians were notoriously aggressive and had been banned permanently from the Citadel after numerous colony raids. While most batarian civilians remained on Khar'shan, a significant population of pirates, slavers, mercenaries and smugglers maintained operations in the Terminus Systems. Seeing them anywhere else was already a matter of concern. But having them opening dormant relays and attacking ships… _Definitely bad news._

"There's one other issue, and this is why many of you were asked to come here," Nihlus was saying. "The ship that we encountered through the relay was nothing like we'd seen before. It belonged to an entirely different species. And the survivor I brought back is one of them."

"By the Spirits," Garrus breathed, as the Council exploded with questions. An entirely new species. It had been decades since the last discovery, and he knew from galactic history that not all first encounters ended well.

Councilor Sparatus was shaking his head, subharmonics flanging in disapproval. "That was unnecessarily risky, Nihlus," he said. "We don't even know what it is. Do you realize you could have endangered everyone on the Citadel by bringing it here?"

"With all due respect," Nihlus replied stonily, "it was close to death. I judged the danger to be minimal. Otherwise we would have shot it and instead brought back a corpse for Mordin here to study."

"Living organism much preferred," Dr. Solus interjected in the brisk manner typical of salarians. "Corpse still useful for study, but comparatively uninteresting."

"And what do you propose we do with this…specimen?" Councilor Valern asked.

Nihlus gestured to Dr. Solus. "Mordin has already done a preliminary scan. He's got it stabilized and resting. Mordin?"

"Certainly," Dr. Solus said eagerly. And with a few swipes on his omnitool, he projected an image.

The scene was clearly from Dr. Solus' lab, where the survivor lay on an observation table. Someone had covered its torso with a sheet, but Garrus was surprised to see from its general shape that it more or less resembled a discolored asari - fleshy skin with no scales or plating, and similar overall proportions. Unlike the asari, however, it was strangely pale in color, and clearly red-blooded from the pink tinge under the skin. Interestingly, there were two funny wrinkled structures on the sides of its head. But strangest of all…

"What's wrong with its fringe?" Garrus said under his breath.

Next to him, Chellick snorted. "I was thinking the same thing. What in the world _is_ that stuff?"

The creature had something growing from its head, but it seemed to be thousands of thin, floppy threads of…what, exactly? Garrus wasn't sure, and he couldn't see well from the projected image. The strands were clearly flexible and looked hopelessly tangled, matted with the survivor's dark, dried blood.

"Two-eyed biped," Dr. Solus was saying. "DNA composed of levo-amino acids. Bone density and tissue readings indicate compatibility with gravitational force and atmospheric composition of Citadel. Highly developed brain structure suggests advanced intellect and emotional development. Digestive, respiratory, endocrine and nervous systems analogous to asari. Should be able to survive on standard levo-amino food. Few special adaptations necessary."

"What's its current condition?" Councilor Tevos asked.

"Currently unconscious. Recovering from extensive external and internal injuries following altercation with batarian attackers." Dr. Solus brought up a chart and began reading off the injuries. Garrus tuned him out while continuing to study the strange creature. Aside from the mysterious head structures and the odd color, he thought, it honestly didn't look very different. He wondered what the asari must have thought when they first discovered the hanar or elcor. This was nothing compared to what that must have been like.

"…fractured left ulna, two fractured ribs and numerous contusions," Dr. Solus finished.

"And how long until it recovers?" Valern asked.

"Difficult to predict," Dr. Solus admitted. "Body lacking in recuperative cybernetic implants. Suspect specimen lacks accelerated regenerative ability, as only small improvement made in past several hours. Could be weeks before full functionality restored."

"Most importantly," Sparatus interjected, "how likely is this creature going to turn and attack us the moment it wakes up?"

There was a moment of uneasy silence. Garrus glanced at the image of the body again. It certainly didn't _look _dangerous, but looks were often deceptive. As a C-Sec officer, he'd seen that firsthand repeatedly.

"Impossible to say for certain," Dr. Solus answered. "Teeth nearly all blunt. Suggests specimen is omnivorous and likely less predisposed to predatory behavior than carnivorous apex predators." Dr. Solus shot a meaningful glance at Sparatus' own razor-sharp turian teeth. "Also, scan of brain chemicals suggests extensive biological impulses for socialization and cooperation. Can continue to observe interactions after specimen awakens."

Nihlus lifted his hand. "If I may," he said. "Councilors, this is a rare opportunity. Having rescued this survivor will make cooperation with the rest of its species easier, at least initially."

Councilor Tevos nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "If this new species is to be integrated, it would be best to start positively." Out of all of them, she was the one who'd probably seen the most firsthand, given her lifespan.

"But is it a danger?" Sparatus looked straight at Nihlus. "We don't want another instance of rachni, yahg, or even krogan. The last thing we want is some pushy species expanding uncontrollably over the galaxy."

Garrus couldn't help himself. The turian councilor's hypocrisy was too egregious for him to keep his mouth shut. "Councilors," he spoke up. Everyone in the room suddenly looked at him. Garrus was momentarily uncomfortable, but forged ahead. "With all due respect…none of _us _would have found the Citadel in the first place if we hadn't been trying to expand off our own homeworlds. If this species was capable of building a spaceship, they were undoubtedly interested in expansion. But we clearly don't have enough information to judge their inclinations as a race." As an investigator, Garrus knew that making a call based on incomplete information was often foolish – and in this case, they had almost nothing to go on.

Sparatus eyed him sharply, but Tevos and Valern looked thoughtful. Garrus returned the turian Councilor's glare evenly. "Besides," Garrus continued, "we already know that this species was unable to defend itself against a batarian attack. C-Sec has successfully handled batarian aggression before. Given that track record, we should be able to handle any threat this particular individual presents."

Garrus hazarded a glance at Executor Pallin, wondering if he'd presumed too much, but the Executor was nodding in agreement. Nihlus shot him an approving look.

In the end, the Council decided to let the survivor remain on the Citadel, recuperating under Dr. Solus' care. When it eventually woke up, Dr. Solus pointed out, they would need to find a way to communicate. Councilor Tevos said simply that she had a solution for that in mind already. "There is an asari xenoanthropologist that will be trustworthy," she said. "She's the daughter of an old friend. She's currently on Therum. I'll be in contact with her."

"In the meantime," Sparatus added, "this creature will have to be guarded at all times."

"Officer Vakarian has been already been assigned to it," Executor Pallin replied.

"How appropriate," Sparatus noted with a smirk. Garrus bit back a growl.

As the meeting adjourned, Chellick nudged Garrus. "Nice speech, Vakarian. Guess we'll have you to thank if that thing turns out to be a yahg in disguise, and goes on a mad rampage all over the Citadel." Chellick's words were testy, but his subharmonics revealed that he was joking. Garrus' mandibles relaxed. "So…how'd you of all people end up on guard duty?" Chellick asked.

Garrus winced. "Let's not talk about that so much."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything.

Thanks as always for reading, and for your feedback!

* * *

It was cold.

Shepard sighed and tried to burrow more fully under the blanket. Blanket? No, it felt like just a thin sheet. She shivered. Had she lost the blanket? Sometimes she accidentally kicked it onto the floor when she slept. She reached over to her side, trying to find the end of the blanket, only to recoil as pain seared her ribs.

_Fuck. That hurts. What the…_

Shepard's eyes flew open. Everything came rushing back to her – the strange artifact, the Normandy being attacked, the aliens boarding. The aliens…they'd looked like something out of a nightmare – ugly, four eyed, green skinned – terrifying. And all armed. She'd managed to take out most of the ones who'd been in the command center, covering the crewmembers who'd been trying to get to the escape pods. But eventually, she'd run out of ammo and one had definitely shot her. After that she couldn't remember anything. But now…

…_oh shit. Where the fuck am I now?_

Her eyes scanned the room wildly. It was some sort of prison cell, although a little bigger than the ones on Earth. She was actually on a cot. There were a desk and a chair nearby. She was hooked up by IV to some sort of machine. There was no sign of any of her weapons, or gear, or clothing. In fact, now that she thought about it, except for the extensive bandages covering her torso and limbs, she was completely naked.

_Oh, fantastic. _

She forced herself to calm down. _What about everyone else? Williams, Alenko…did they survive? The crew? Joker? Oh, Joker…_ There was no way the fragile pilot could have held off the aliens. She should have ordered him onto the escape pod first. She should have…

She didn't know what else she should have done.

It was too easy to give into despair when you didn't have all the information, she reminded herself. Maybe some of them had made it to the escape pods successfully. The right messages had gone out, although she distinctly remembered seeing Pressly going down, shot in the back of the head just as the transmission finished. Guilt filled her, for giving him the order that had caused his death, but at least his actions might have saved some lives. But then she pushed away the guilt and focused on the present. Her first order of business was to figure out where she was, and then get the hell out of here.

She tried to look around for possible exits – and froze.

There was a dinosaur standing outside the door.

_No fucking way. I have to be seeing things. _Shepard squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and opened them again. _Nope…still there. Where the FUCK am I?_

The dinosaur wasn't moving much. It was standing there like it was supposed to be guarding her door, but she noticed that every so often, its spiked head would loll to the side a little. Was it…asleep?

Despite the situation, Shepard smirked. Guard duty was universally sleep-inducing, it seemed. And now, she had a chance.

Yes, she realized that even if she escaped this one guard, there might be fifty others stationed right around the corner. Plus, she had no idea where to find a ship or how to get back to Earth. At some point she'd need to find food and medicine. But the sleeping guard…the door…

Some would have called her crazy – in fact, many people _had _called her crazy on numerous occasions – but even naked, weaponless and injured, Shepard was not one to let this kind of opportunity slip by.

Besides, she could improvise. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

She removed the IV from her arm, letting it dangle. Slipping out from under the sheet, she landed silently and slunk down onto all fours, crawling slowly towards the door and steadfastly ignoring the stabbing protests of her injuries. Flattening herself against the wall, Shepard tried the door hesitantly – nope, locked. She searched briefly for a keyhole that she could pick – no, nothing. The door must be secured by some kind of electronic means. Or maybe by alien magic, she thought dryly. She huffed in frustration.

Looking around the room again, she saw the machine that she'd been hooked up to – some kind of monitor. It had to be connected to a power source. She moved back towards it. If only there was some way she could overload the door…

A scratching noise startled her and she whipped her head back around towards the door. _Oh shit._ The dinosaur had woken up. It seemed like it had scraped the back of its head spikes on the door accidentally.

As Shepard watched, it turned around – and froze, staring right at her.

Still crouched down by the base of the machine, she stared right back at it. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the strange body shape – reptilian but with an almost birdlike face. It had a pair of fierce raptor eyes and a set of sharp teeth that wasn't quite hidden by the...mandibles?...around its jaw. Across the flat planes of its face, there was a blue horizontal stripe, which looked painted on. Below its neck, it was completely armored in blue and black, but from the shape of its gear, it seemed to have a bulky cowl structure around its shoulders. And it had three long fingers on each hand tipped with talons. To top it all off, it had a gun strapped to its back.

_Okay…bad news…_

Luckily, it wasn't aiming the gun at her – yet. In her gut, Shepard didn't think it'd actually kill her, at least not until the aliens here got whatever it was they wanted from her. Why else would they have treated her wounds?

To her surprise, the alien lifted a hand slowly. Was it…waving? She was still for a moment, before she hesitantly mirrored the action, wincing at the stab of agony it produced.

She twitched at the sound of the door suddenly opening. It was coming in. Tentative overture of friendship forgotten, Shepard dove for cover immediately, lunging behind the cot and peeking out. As she crouched there, the guard moved gradually closer until it was just a few feet away. It waved again, and made a soft, flanged trilling noise, almost like the call of a dove. Then it slowly raised both hands up in what looked like a gesture of peace.

It had left the door open.

With an inhuman effort Shepard managed _not _to glance at the door, in case she gave herself away.

The creature trilled at her again, and then made a soft purr. It was a strange sound; Shepard unconsciously tilted her head to listen to it. A multi-layered voice? In the language of music, its voice would be a series of pleasant chords, rather than single notes. She studied the creature's face. It looked ferocious, but at least it wasn't baring those wicked teeth at her. The blue markings were actually kind of pretty. She wondered briefly what they meant.

Shepard felt a stab of guilt as she made her decision.

"Sorry, Blue," she whispered. And as the dino-creature tilted its head, distracted by the rough sound of her voice, she leapt over the cot, grabbed the sheet, and wrapped it soundly around its head.

_Oh fuck – spikes – forgot about the spikes. _After narrowly avoiding getting stabbed by the spikes on its head – which immediately tore holes into the flimsy sheet – she deftly sidestepped around the guard and grabbed its gun off its back. _A rifle, _she thought with satisfaction. _I can do rifles._

And then, she was off, streaking through the open door without a backward glance.

* * *

Garrus sat there, in utter shock, head still wrapped in the sheet.

_What…the…HELL?_

He hissed in frustration, ripping the sheet off from around his neck. A glance backward confirmed it – in his eagerness to approach the little alien, who had woken up for the first time, he'd made a rookie mistake and left the door open. Unsurprisingly, his prisoner had bolted at the first opportunity.

_Maybe you do deserve guard duty. What the hell is wrong with you these days, Vakarian? _he thought to himself. Then he slammed a finger onto his omni-tool. "Dr. Solus! Did you see that? It's loose!"

"Yes, currently in pursuit. Interesting. Very intelligent."

"It won't get far," Garrus muttered. The corridors were confusing to those who didn't work there, and there were several places where the prisoner could be cornered. Garrus hurriedly logged in to access C-Sec's security footage on his omni-tool, and immediately spotted the pale, bandaged alien in one of the cell blocks, rifle held at the ready. It seemed to be looking into each cell, and was calling out shrilly in its strange language, perhaps trying to locate more of its own kind.

"Cell Block D," he told Dr. Solus, forwarding the coordinates to the salarian. "You get south exit, I'll get north. It'll be trapped."

The priority was to recover the prisoner – preferably relatively unharmed – before other members of C-Sec caught on and the Council was notified. He immediately hacked the appropriate security feeds using his omni-tool, and looped the footage so it seemed like nothing was amiss. Then he grabbed another gun from a storage locker nearby and sprinted towards Cell Block D. When he got there, he noticed a thin trail of red blood on the ground. He followed the trail for some time; the alien seemed to have moved quickly, working around all the cells.

A bullet suddenly whizzed by his ear. Immediately Garrus flattened himself against the wall, scanning his surroundings for cover. He dove into a nearby alcove, his shields flickering out as they were hit.

_Okay, this thing's a good shot, too. What kind of frickin' creatures are these things?_ He waited for his shields to regenerate before looking out of the alcove. He couldn't see it, but he knew the floor plan by heart and had figured out where it had to be hiding. He also knew that the rifle it had stolen off his back only had a few bullets left in it. _But it doesn't know that. Maybe I can get it to waste them… _He leaned out cautiously, teasing out another shot in his direction that sent his shields fizzling again. He waited and repeated this once more, but it didn't take the bait. Clearly it had already caught on. He shook his head. _Smart little thing, _he thought, half affectionately and half in exasperation.

Out of other options, Garrus removed a flashbang grenade from his belt and lobbed it in the creature's direction. In the ensuing confusion, he sprinted towards it and finally found it slumped against a doorway, still clutching the rifle. He took advantage of the last moments of blinding smoke to wrestle the rifle away from it and to snap a pair of handcuffs around the thin, pale wrists. It cried out in protest, reflexively attempting to kick him. Garrus winced in sympathy as its soft, fleshy foot came into jarring contact with his armor. The creature yelped in pain, and then at last, sagged to the ground, seeming to give up.

"Spirits, finally," Garrus muttered in relief. "Guard duty is way more work than I thought it would be." He noticed that fresh red blood was staining the bandage on one of the creature's sides, and that it was panting in exhaustion, but it still looked up at him defiantly.

Dr. Solus appeared on the opposite end of the hall. The sound of the salarian's footsteps got the creature's attention, and it gaped at Dr. Solus in shock, apparently having never seen a salarian before.

"Highly sensitive to adrenal effects," Dr. Solus commented. "But tiring now. Reopened her injury. Blood loss."

"Her?" Garrus asked. "It's female?" Reflexively he glanced at the prisoner's body, but then quickly looked away, somewhat embarrassed now knowing that the creature he held captive was a woman. Her waist was exposed.

"Indeed. Studied scans of reproductive organs just prior to escape attempt. Despite superficial bodily resemblance to asari, reproductive system more similar to turians."

By this time, the alien woman's eyes had glazed over in exhaustion and her shoulders had slumped in defeat. She looked up at them wearily. Garrus noticed that her limbs were trembling, and strange little bumps had risen on her skin.

Seeing her, Garrus felt a moment of sympathy. He was an ardent believer in justice, but as far as he was concerned, she hadn't done anything _wrong_. If it had been him in the same situation – being attacked by aggressive aliens and left to die, then waking up alone in a room surrounded by other strange aliens – he probably would have reacted the same way, or worse. And, he had to admit that despite the situation, he had enjoyed himself. As an investigator, he didn't get to spend much time in firefights, and it had honestly been kind of refreshing. The alien woman had certainly been a match for him, and to Garrus, respect for a worthy opponent transcended species boundaries. If she'd been similarly armed and equipped, perhaps the fight would have ended differently.

"Look," he began, even though he knew she couldn't understand him. "I know you're lost and confused. I tried making friends. And after seeing all that, I really hope we can have you on our side, because we can use that kind of tenacity." She furrowed her brow, seemingly concentrating on his voice, and he made his tone gentle, using the same comforting subvocal that turians often used when addressing young children. "We're not going to hurt you unless you do something drastic like that again. But you have to cooperate. You'll be in real danger if the Council hears about this."

"Yes," Dr. Solus agreed. "Recommend immediate destruction of security footage. Must not let Councilors learn of this lapse. Sparatus especially." The salarian crouched down in front of the prisoner, who stared at him dubiously. "Should continue attempting communication. Build trust. Much to learn from her."

And to Garrus' shock, Dr. Solus smiled widely at the woman and began to sing.

"_My dalatrass' wishes are consistently peculiar_

_But as a loyal servant I must constantly defer to her…"_

It was a song from a classic salarian musical. Garrus vaguely recalled a line in Dr. Solus' C-Sec file that indicated he'd once performed extensively as a singer. The alien seemed stunned, too, staring like Dr. Solus as if he'd gone insane. And maybe he had, Garrus thought.

Dr. Solus spread his arms theatrically, closing his eyes in delight as he completed the last verse of the song. By that time, though it seemed she had been fighting it all along, the woman had broken down into hysterical laughter. As Dr. Solus finished, she clapped her hands stiffly, handcuffs jangling.

Dr. Solus smiled benignly at her. "Have successfully calmed specimen," he said proudly, addressing Garrus. "Artistic appreciation obviously indicative of advanced cognitive development. May now return to cell. I will clean up blood trail."

"You sure she wasn't laughing at you because you looked like an idiot?"

Dr. Solus looked offended. "Appears that your cognitive development may lag behind hers."

* * *

After being escorted back to her cell, Shepard fell asleep almost immediately, clutching the torn sheet to her body to ward off the chill. The failed escape attempt had exhausted her, which wasn't too surprising as she was still healing. When she woke up later, the guard was missing. She thought briefly about trying to escape again, but then she noticed a new addition – a camera device mounted outside the room. She rolled her eyes at it and gave it the middle finger. _Try and figure that out!_ she thought.

As she sat on the cot, rolling her sore shoulder, she began to think. She hadn't been able to find any of her crew members, and it was probably safe to assume that she was alone here. She also had no way of contacting Alliance Command.

But those two aliens, at least – the salamander and the dinosaur – didn't seem inclined to harm her. She'd been prepared for a pretty severe punishment after they'd caught her – a failure that still bothered her despite the fact that she knew they'd had all the advantages in this situation, and her none – but the dinosaur ("Blue", she had started to call him in her head) had simply handcuffed her and then proceeded to reprimand her in his strange two-toned language. (It had to be a reprimand – she'd been on the receiving end of far too many from her superiors not to know that body language.) And the lab-coated salamander-thing was even stranger. After she'd gotten over the shock of its appearance – a comical cross between a horned frog and a barn owl, with a pouty mouth – he'd turned to her, flashed her a shit-eating grin, and actually starting _singing._

What could she do but applaud after that little stunt?

She sighed and closed her eyes again. Now that the shock of her situation had faded, she realized that the best thing for her to do would be to cooperate– at least for a little while, until she learned more. It was clear that whatever this civilization was, it was advanced. And so far, she hadn't seen any of the four-eyed monsters that had attacked the Normandy yet. If one of _them_ had shown up…well, she wouldn't have just wrapped its head with a sheet – she would have tried to strangle it with the IV and then beat it to death with the chair.

She let a wave of rage wash over her for a few moments before collecting herself again. _Time enough for that later,_ she thought to herself.

There was a knock, and she glanced over towards the door. The guard – Blue – was back, and he was carrying something. She sat up on the cot as he opened the door – and smirked as he made a show of closing it and locking it behind him. Then he turned back around and she noticed he was holding some cloth garment gingerly in his three-fingered hand, as if being careful not to rip it with his claws. He placed it on the cot next to her, and waited expectantly as she lifted it.

It was a long, high-necked burgundy tunic with some stripes down the side. To her surprise, it actually fit her rather well, as if it had been created for a similar-shaped body. For a hopeful moment she wondered if there were other humans here – not from the Normandy crew perhaps, but maybe kidnapped from space before and brought here as well.

"Thanks for the clothes, Blue," she said, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't understand.

Blue stared at her curiously, before making that low purr again.

"What are you, a big dino-cat?" she asked, then tried to imitate the sound back at him. Of course, she had only one voicebox, and the effect was much diminished. Blue's brow plates rose and she swore he looked confused.

"I'm Shepard," she said to him conversationally, gesturing to herself. "Shepard."

He pointed to her suddenly, and she almost jumped back at the sight of his talons.

"S..sh…shep..aarrrrd," he said, in a gravelly, two-toned growl.

"Yes!" She grinned at him, and he tilted his head and his mandibles flared, as if in imitation of her smile. Shepard was momentarily taken aback by the sight of his teeth – but it didn't seem to be an aggressive gesture so she relaxed.

"Yesssss," he repeated to her. "Yesss."

"Shepard," she repeated again, gesturing to herself. Then she pointed to him.

"Garrus," he said very clearly.

"Garrus," she repeated.

He trilled approvingly. "Yessss?"

Shepard was suddenly giddy, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh. Maybe this could work. Maybe they could find a way to communicate, and then eventually he could tell her where she was, and what was going on.

Maybe one day, she could get home again.

"Garrus," she repeated.

"Sheparrrd."

It was a start.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything.

Thanks for your many wonderful comments and for taking the time to read this story!

* * *

"She's called Shepard," Garrus said confidently.

"Species or name?"

Garrus hummed in thought. Now that he thought about it, it hadn't been quite clear. He wasn't really sure how to ask her though. How would one act out those concepts?

"No matter," Mordin said, moving on quickly. "Will refer as 'Shepard' species in Council reports until otherwise informed."

Shepard was asleep, and Garrus and Mordin were going over their notes on what they'd observed and discovered about her. (The salarian had finally insisted Garrus drop his title; apparently having observed someone singing like a fool granted a certain level of familiarity.) It seemed like Shepards needed considerable sleep, as this one had been out for about six hours already. Turians only required about three hours each night – which Garrus got in quick snatches here and there – and salarians needed only one, leaving them with ample time for analysis of Shepard's situation. The Council had requested a report on her health and behavior, and accordingly, Mordin was studying records of brain and heat scans taken during the day, mapping what portions of Shepard's brain had been activated during what activities.

For his part, Garrus was recording on his omni-tool the words he'd learned in Shepard's language. Her name, _yes, no, food_ – Garrus paused, unsure if the word specifically meant food or if it just indicated a state of hunger. It definitely had something to do with eating, as she'd forlornly pointed to her abdomen, which had been making insistent growling noises, and then mimed putting things in her mouth. After he'd gotten the message, Garrus had gone to get her some asari food. Shepard had poked at it suspiciously for a while before she'd nibbled at it – and then, eyes wide with surprised delight, hastily devoured the rest.

After she'd eaten, they'd exhausted the objects in the admittedly bare room before moving onto body parts – _eyes _and _nose_ and _mouth_ and the funny wrinkled structures called _ears. _When he'd indicated her head with a confused look, she'd taught him the word for _hair_. Then to his horror, she'd reached up and plucked out one of the strands to show him. "Shepard!" he'd cried in alarm, before he realized it must not have hurt because she was laughing at his reaction. Later he'd noticed that there actually were quite a few of the glinting strands scattered on the floor. So she shed the stuff too? Interesting. What could be the evolutionary advantage of that?

He had tried to teach her a little turian, but – like most other species – she couldn't produce the subvocalizations that provided the contextual meaning of each word. So they gave up on that one. Shepard seemed to be getting restless, anyhow, perhaps bored of the exercise. Garrus wondered if a limited attention span was an individual personality trait, or one shared by all Shepards. He'd left her alone, and she'd begun rolling and flexing her strange, pale limbs as if to work the stiffness out of them. He'd marveled a bit at her flexibility, recalling the agile leap she'd made over the cot.

Garrus' thoughts were interrupted by a message on his omni-tool – encrypted, he noticed. It was from Chellick. _Vakarian - How's it going babysitting the alien? _it began. _Checked on your previous case, by the way. Assigned to Phineus, but suspect gone. All bank accounts shuttered. Ship records show he went to Ilium, but Ilium outside of C-Sec jurisdiction. Pallin forbade us from pursuing further._

Garrus growled. _Just as I predicted._ What was more, Officer Phineus was a relative newcomer to Investigations. Somehow Garrus didn't have much hope that the case would be solved anytime soon.

Chellick's message continued. _Nihlus sent update. Found two more dormant relays opened. Batarians clearly looking for something. Council worried about batarians attempting to raise alien army; sent two other Spectres to investigate newly opened systems for possible threats. Sparatus still concerned about threat posed by our guest. Make sure to provide security risk analysis in report. Will continue to update as things develop._

Garrus' brow plates raised in concern. He forwarded the message onto Mordin, who glanced at it and huffed. "Unless Shepard exhibits unexpected aggression, hypothesize integration into Citadel community possible. But species group dynamics remain uncertain. Need more specimens," the salarian muttered in frustration.

But there were none. Nihlus' report had confirmed that Shepard was the only living thing found on the ship. They had brought back some of the technology, though, and Garrus planned to show it to Shepard at some point and see what they could learn from her – after they were able to communicate better. Speaking of which…

"What happened to Councilor Tevos' xenoanthropologist?" Garrus asked. "Wasn't she supposed to be here by now?" As entertaining as it was to play charades with Shepard, they needed more answers soon. He had a suspicion regarding how the asari researcher would aid in helping to understand Shepard, and he guessed that this particular one had been chosen for her discretion.

"Ah, yes. Dr. Liara T'soni. Daughter of Matriarch Benezia. Prothean research specialist. Trapped self behind energy barrier during Prothean dig on Therum." Mordin coughed, as if embarrassed on Dr. T'Soni's behalf. "Had to send extraction team."

Garrus choked back a laugh.

Mordin's flat salarian mouth lifted almost imperceptibly in mirth. "Young for asari. Only 106. Perhaps best not to mention when she arrives."

"Noted."

* * *

Shepard had to give the aliens credit. As far as imprisonment went, this was bordering on luxurious. She was recovering from her injuries, she had pretty decent food (although she didn't know – and probably didn't want to know – what it was made of) and she actually liked her prison guard.

There were other amenities that were surprising. Personal privacy was a low priority in the military. It mattered even less when one was the only human in a world of aliens – and even less so when one was being observed like a lab rat by a strange singing salamander-doctor ("Mordin," Garrus had called him). Nevertheless, Shepard was relieved to find that her cell actually had a walled-off lavatory area. It wasn't any better than the conditions she'd dealt with in sub-Saharan Africa, but it offered some modicum of privacy and, more importantly, didn't smell. _Guess some needs are universal, _she thought. No shower, but she had her own sink. She appropriated the torn sheets to use as towels and was able to give herself a wipe down with them that left her feeling immeasurably refreshed. Garrus noticed at once and kindly replaced the soaked sheets with new ones, adding a heavier blanket to her cot as well.

"Turndown service, Blue?" she teased. "You sure know how to spoil a girl."

He didn't understand her of course, but he flared his mandibles again in that funny smile. Shepard had gotten over her wariness of his teeth by now – as long as they didn't come anywhere near her. Which they didn't. In fact, except for when she'd escaped, Garrus hadn't physically touched her once. When she was teaching him English words, they sat a respectful distance across from one another. She wondered if the lack of contact was for his sake or for hers, but she was grateful all the same. He seemed nice, but he was still a six-and-a-half foot tall living dinosaur, and there was still something instinctively disquieting about such a thing.

So it could really be a lot worse, Shepard supposed. In fact, aside from the concerns about the language barrier, the disappearance of her crew, and the fact that she didn't know where the hell she actually was, she had only one complaint: boredom. Shepard was bored out of her mind.

Usually when she was deployed, she avoided boredom by going around and talking to members of her team, learning about them and getting to understand them. Here, there was really only Garrus available; Mordin only showed up occasionally to check on her physical wounds. So poor Garrus got the full brunt of Shepard's boredom-crazed antics. He patiently entertained her verbal prodding at first, but after a while, he started ignoring her in favor of tinkering with something on his strange holographic wrist device. She sighed and gave up.

It was dreadful for Shepard. She was like a puppy; boredom made her destructive. She did so many pushups that she strained a bicep, causing Mordin to appear and jabber unhappily at her in that fast-paced language of his. She invented word games that she played with herself; she made obscene gestures at the camera, trying to provoke responses from either of her two captors. Eventually, she started drawing stick figures in the fog she created on the glass doors using her own breath.

Finally, Garrus took pity on her. He showed up with a device similar to the one he had. She held still and watched his claws, but he was careful not to scrape her skin as he secured the device on her left wrist and then showed her how to use it.

"Omni-tool," he explained. It was some kind of multi-function device that could project a holographic interface. Shepard grinned in delight when he brought up what was clearly a sketchpad application and demonstrated carefully with the pad of his finger. He drew a pink oval shape, added a frizzy mess to the top, two eyes, hugely wrinkled ears and straight lines for nose and mouth. "Shepard," he grinned at her. He'd gotten better at pronouncing her name with less growling.

In return, she drew a gray oval with spikes coming out of the head, two beady blue eyes and a blue stripe across the nose. "Garrus," she countered. "Blue."

"Bloo?"

She pointed at the blue color on the holographic screen, then traced the line of Garrus' face paint. "Blue."

He made a noise of comprehension, and then proceeded to learn all the colors quickly. It seemed like he perceived them the same way she did in the visible light spectrum. The vocabulary lesson continued, with Shepard able to draw objects for Garrus to put a name to. It surprised her how quickly he picked the words up; he sometimes had problems with the pronunciation but almost never forgot a word once he learned it.

Something suddenly occurred to her, and she tensed.

"Shepard?" Garrus asked, voice tentative. He'd picked up on her sudden unease.

Heart racing, Shepard took a deep breath and began sketching the long, fluid lines of the Normandy. Next to her, Garrus went still as he watched. She wasn't a good artist, but the shape of the ship was unmistakable. Next to it she added a few more human figures – the crew.

"Ship," she said softly. "Normandy." Then she pointed at the humans. "Crew? Garrus…did you find any more of the crew?"

The way he looked at her, she knew he understood what she was asking. "No, Shepard," he crooned gently.

She closed her eyes, and the despair she'd been doggedly pushing away for the last several days returned in a rushing wave, overcoming her until she couldn't breathe. No crew. They must all be dead.

She was alone.

* * *

In her worst nightmares, Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams could have never imagined what she'd been through in the last week. Being unexpectedly attacked by four-eyed aliens in the middle of space was bad enough. But then she'd woken up in a cage surrounded by more grotesque aliens, in some kind of slave pen. She didn't know where they were except that it was dark, damp, and loud, and definitely not on Earth.

She strained her eyes, looking for signs of others from the Normandy crew, and even shouted a few times, seeing if anyone would recognize her voice. But she saw no other cages of humans, despite the fact that she knew other crewmembers had been captured. In those last harrowing moments on the Normandy, she and Kaidan had been separated from most of the crew, seeing to the harpoons as the Commander had ordered. They'd even managed to get one of the harpoons loose before the aliens had found them. To her surprise, the aliens had seemed intent on capturing crew members, and had only outright killed the ones they needed to. She hadn't seen the Commander, but at least a dozen other crew members had been shackled and force-marched onto the alien ship. She herself remembered being loaded, kicking and screaming, onto their strange transport, before one of the four-eyed things had finally gotten enough of her struggling and knocked her out.

Around her, the cages contained all types of other strange things. To her left, there was a hellish-looking demon with red eyes and razor-sharp teeth that eyed her hungrily all day long. To her right, a huge, humped lizard with scar across its face and a rumbling, deep growl studied her morosely. All around the endless rows of cages roamed the four-eyed horrors that had attacked the Normandy. Once a day one of them would come around to each cage and shove a bowl with some kind of paste through the cage bars. The first day she'd eaten it, Ashley had half-hoped it would kill her.

She'd spent two whole days praying that she would wake up from the nightmare, but she never did. So finally, Ashley gathered herself and did what she did best – muttered a sarcastic remark that put things in perspective (_Dante's Inferno had nothing on this place,_ she thought) and then made the best of the situation. It was how she'd gotten through boot camp – a skinny, diminutive girl with a sardonic sense of humor who drew the ire of all her male squad mates for working harder and being better than them. Every locker room brawl, every insult, every trial Ashley had ever faced had prepared her for this: the greatest test of faith she would ever experience.

She was determined not to fail. She started as she always did, by counting her blessings.

The first blessing: she wasn't alone. They'd put Kaidan here with her. He'd been worse off than she had; a serious blow to the back of the head had knocked out his vision, and Kaidan had spent the first night blind and completely helpless. Initially, he'd attempted to maintain some semblance of calm, but as the time passed and his world remained unceasingly dark, he'd clung to her arm like a lifeline, flinching at the strange sounds that surrounded them. Ash could see and knew that the threat lay beyond the bars of their cage – at least for now – but Kaidan could only hear it echoing all around him. Neither of them could sleep that night.

The second blessing: After finally nodding off to doze in fitful bursts during that next day, Kaidan had woken up suddenly in the evening with his vision restored. After gazing at their surroundings, horror in his eyes, he muttered that he almost wished he hadn't.

He caught her in prayer later that night. "God's not going to pull us out of this one, Ash," Kaidan had whispered.

"I know," Ashley had replied, her voice serene. "I'm asking him for the strength to do it on our own."

The third blessing: They had their suits. Some parts were damaged but they were better than nothing.

The fourth blessing: After several days of waiting in the cages, they realized that they were brought here not necessarily to die, but to fight. As time went on, their cages were moved closer and closer to what seemed to be the source of the action – a bloody pit lit by torches. An excited crowd of shouting, jeering alien spectators filled the seats surrounding the arena. A pit fight, Ashley thought, thinking of ancient Roman gladiators.

There was something comforting in that knowledge. If it was one thing Marines knew how to do, it was fight. Not that this was a fair fight, by any means. None of the other forced participants were armed either – it was an all-out brawl – but from the glimpses they could get of the fighting, some had what looked to be some kind of blazing blue magic that levitated and shocked the others. Seeing that magic, even Ash hadn't been sure they could pull it off. How could two humans with nothing but their fists win against enemies with sharp teeth, thick hides, and _alien_ _magic?_

But as luck would have it, there was one more blessing.

The fifth blessing: The giant, brooding reptile that had been caged next to them wound up on the same team as them. It could use that blue magic. And as it turned out, it was damned near invincible.

After days of tension and uncertainty, there was something glorious about just letting loose and straight _beating shit up_, Ashley thought. Punches and kicks and head-butting (which seemed to be what the lizard preferred) weren't elegant by any means, but dirty fighting certainly got the job done. The three of them worked together seamlessly. Ashley was all agility, dodging and weaving until she could hit weak points: Kaidan was a solid pillar of strength, providing the offensive power needed to bring their opponents down. And the reptile…well, it was something else all together. Sometimes it lifted the enemies with that electric blue force so that they dangled helplessly in the air, providing a reprieve whenever they needed a breather; other times it just roared and charged in, seemingly unstoppable as it literally tore things apart with its bare hands.

"Remind me _never_ to get on his bad side," Kaidan muttered to Ashley at one point, as they watched their teammate literally rip apart one of the strange fish-eyed dogs they'd been fighting.

They killed everything that got in the pit with them. Perhaps once, Ashley might have been horrified. But these were aliens, she reminded herself. And if she hadn't killed them, they would have killed her.

During a pause in the fight, she reached over and high-fived Kaidan. Out of habit, she extended her hand to her other teammate – and stopped short, remembering that her other teammate was a giant space reptile.

He looked at her oddly and gave a low grunt – Ashley sensed approval. Then he reached over and slapped her outstretched hand, just as he'd seen Kaidan do.

The force of it almost sent her toppling.

* * *

There was some kind of commotion going on above as they stood in the pit, the adrenaline high from the most recent fight slowly bleeding away and leaving them exhausted. Ash could barely hear over the impatient jeers of the crowd, but it seemed like two of the aliens were having some kind of argument.

She looked over at Kaidan and he shrugged. But their reptilian teammate had suddenly gone tense. Ashley looked up at where he had fixed his gaze.

It was some kind of standoff between one of the four-eyed, green-skinned freaks and a sinister-looking…walking dinosaur? After the Normandy, Ash had certainly developed a healthy fear of the four-eyed aliens, but at this moment, it was the other one that sent a chill down her spine. His strange, flat, silver face was vaguely avian and distinctly menacing. Wicked, curved spikes framed the two sides of his face. And his body…his whole left side looked like a mess of tubes. Was he…part-machine?

As she watched, he very deliberately raised a gun and aimed it at the four-eyed alien's forehead. The sound of the shot echoed through the arena.

There was a moment of shocked silence before all hell broke loose. Amidst the screaming and the shouting, the panicking crowd began to make for the exits. A few unlucky individuals were actually pushed over the edge and fell into the ring. Ashley looked around, trying to locate a way out herself. But the gates in front of them began to creak and open, just as they had before every single previous round, releasing the next horrors that they would face.

Everything Ashley had seen today had been terrifying. But there was something just plain _wrong _about the creatures that crawled out next. They shrieked and twitched as if they simply didn't function correctly, and they glowed unnaturally with blue lights where veins and arteries should have been. If she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn that their bodies looked humanoid.

And then she realized that some of them were wearing scraps of cloth – and those scraps were pieces of the Normandy crew uniform.

For the first time since the beginning of the pit fight, Ashley felt real fear.

"Kaidan," she said. Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady. "We have to get out of here."

"I'm with you on that, but it's not going to be easy. We don't even know where we are."

"Kaidan," Ashley repeated with gritted teeth. "Look at those things. They're wearing Normandy uniforms." Her heart contracted with fear and horror and her voice escalated into a shriek. "They used to be human! Someone here turned our crew into…those!"

Kaidan gaped in horror but they didn't have time for any more words. The not-humans started running towards the three of them. Their reptile comrade lifted his hand, gathering blue energy into a force that slammed one of the glowing blue creatures into the side of the pit, where a flaming torch fell on top of it. It twitched and uttered a gargled scream before falling still, a burnt husk.

_Husks_, Ashley thought as she steeled herself to kill her former crewmates. She relentlessly buried the memories that arose – commiserating over the disgusting pre-cooked space rations, trading gossip about their Commander, laughing together over Star Trek episodes – _no. Husks, _she thought again. _That's what they are now. Not humans anymore._

There weren't many of them, but they hit with a mindless, unnatural force. The reptile had to repeatedly force the group of them back with his magic, letting just one or two run through, or else they would be overwhelmed. Ash and Kaidan did their best, using the torches around the pit to burn the creatures after they'd downed them. They were down to the final one when Ash happened to glance up – and saw the terrifying spiked dinosaur aiming his gun at her.

She dove aside just in time, and the bullet buried itself in the husk that they'd just killed.

"Let's go!" she shrieked. "That guy's shooting us!"

Behind them, the reptile bellowed. It seemed like he too had been shot, but from what Ash had seen, he seemed to have some kind of accelerated healing, as many of the wounds he'd sustained in their earlier bouts had vanished without a trace. In retaliation, the reptile aimed a bolt of his blue magic towards the dinosaur, hitting the viewing balcony above it. As the dinosaur scrambled, attempting to dodge the plaster falling on top of him, the reptile gestured to Ashley and Kaidan, then started charging through the gates. They followed him into the tunnels that led out of the arena.

Throngs of confused spectators were still rushing around outside, and the chaos enabled the three of them to slip through the crowd. The reptile clearly knew where he was going – he led them down several corridors, through a side exit, and finally to a wide path that led to what looked like a spaceport.

_Thank God, _Ashley thought. _We're getting out of here._

With his blue magic, the reptile swept aside the alien guards that were rushing to stop them, effortlessly tossing them over the edge of the docks. Then he ushered them into the closest docked ship. Ash's heart nearly stuttered to a stop when she recognized it as the same vessel that had attacked the Normandy.

_Please, God, let there be no one aboard, please God, please God, _Ashley feverishly prayed.

There was someone aboard, but it wasn't who they would have expected. They swept the ship, encountering just one angry four-eyed alien guarding a very familiar prisoner –

"_Joker?_" Ash exclaimed, as the reptile proceeded to dispatch the four-eyed guard with brutal efficiency.

"Am I hearing things…Chief? Lieutenant?" The pilot gaped. "It really is you!"

Joker looked rather worse for the wear. It was clear that his fragile legs had been broken, possibly multiple times, and he was covered in bruises that bloomed blue and purple all over. There was no explanation as to why he'd been left here, while the others had been taken and converted into those monsters, but there would be time for questions later.

"Joker, can you fly this ship?" Ash asked. The reptile was eyeing Joker suspiciously, but she held up a hand to stop him from tearing the fragile pilot apart.

"Chief, I can fly anything you want me to if you could just figure out a way to get me out of these handcuffs…" Joker shook the heavy manacles that bound his wrists.

Ash bent down to search the dead guard's body for a key of some sort. Before she could find it, though, the reptile grunted impatiently. He stomped over and grabbed Joker's cuffed wrists. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Joker shouted in protest. "Hang on! What the hell is this?"

Holding the metal chain with his large fingers, the reptile smirked – and ripped the chain apart.

"Shit!" Joker stared. "Looks like you've got a useful new friend here."

Kaidan moved over, lifting Joker into his arms. "No time, buddy. We have to get out of this place."

"But what about the others? The crew – those four-eyed freaks took them all!"

"Joker…" Ash ducked her head. "They…they're not coming back."

The pilot's eyes darkened in understanding, and he said nothing as Kaidan carried him back to the cockpit and placed him into the pilot's seat. The reptile followed them, making impatient sounds, as Joker looked down, figuring out the controls.

A few minutes later, they were airborne and speeding out of the spaceport. It was only when they were safely in space that Ash finally breathed easily. _I can't believe we actually survived that._

She turned to find the strange reptile at her side, staring out at the dark expanse of space. The reptile moved and prodded Joker's shoulder – "Ow, geez! Brittle bones, here!" the pilot yelped – before stabbing his finger towards a set of coordinates on the console.

Joker looked down. "Okay, giant five-ton lizard says go here, I'm going here. Where the hell did you guys ever pick up this thing?"

"Long story," Kaidan muttered. "But he definitely saved our lives."

"Can you even talk to him? Does he have a name?"

Ash suddenly realized that they'd never even had the chance to ask. She turned to look at the reptile, and he returned her gaze evenly. She jabbed a finger at her chest. "Ashley."

The reptile gave a curt nod, and she knew he'd understood.

"Wrex."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: As always, Bioware owns everything.

Author's Note: Starting this week, The Final Frontier will be going on a brief, three-week hiatus while this author is going off to get married and go on her honeymoon! I don't think I'll be able to post new chapters while I'm gone, but I'll definitely be working on the story, and will hopefully have something up when I get back after the 25th. In the meantime, thank you so much for all your kind comments and reviews. Your support of this story is deeply humbling to me, and I appreciate it so much. Enjoy Chapter 5!

* * *

Dr. T'soni finally arrived the next afternoon, blushing blue and stammering apologies. She was surprisingly shy and awkward for an asari maiden, Garrus thought; all the ones he'd known before had either been mercenaries (fearless) or strippers (shameless). But her excitement at this assignment was obvious. Shepard might not have been a Prothean, but to Liara, as she insisted on being called, she was the next best thing.

Garrus himself had never understood the allure of studying the Protheans, although he certainly appreciated the technology they'd left lying around the galaxy. He thought Shepard made for a much more intriguing research topic; not only was she actually living, but she also made the most fascinating facial expressions. Perhaps it was the investigator in him that understood the value of being able to read someone, but he'd been mentally cataloguing her expressions for a couple of days now, trying to assign meanings to each, although many continued to mystify him. She could scrunch up or puff out her cheeks, twitch her pointed nose, and make all sorts of shapes with her mouth. Sometimes, when she smiled, two mysteriously appealing dimples appeared in her cheeks. He'd even seen her wiggle her ears, although he couldn't figure out what purpose that could possibly serve. The most shocking thing was when she'd been prodding at the inside of her mouth with her tongue, and her cheek had actually _bulged out_ to accommodate the tip – a sight that for some reason, made Garrus distinctly uncomfortable. Faces just weren't supposed to _be _like that. He briefly wondered if he could convince Liara to make a study of the phenomenon; Mordin had already refused, claiming the topic was "not sufficiently challenging".

Garrus had tried to prepare Shepard for the asari's arrival a bit earlier that day, but it was clearly beyond the limits of what he could communicate through his 20-word vocabulary, consisting mostly of nouns and a few adjectives. He had drawn a blue woman with no hair – he wasn't so good at details like fringes, so he left them out – and Shepard had simply stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Garrus, what?"

_What _was another word he'd picked up, and it usually meant that she didn't understand. He'd scratched his fringe; he hadn't really thought the pictorial explanation through, and it suddenly seemed very complicated to explain in pictures that an asari researcher was on her way to see Shepard and help her communicate. So he gave up, simply making a reassuring but apologetic noise and clearing the sketchpad screen. Later, though, when Liara actually arrived and knocked hesitantly on the door, Shepard had shot him a look of understanding before gaping openly at her first asari.

Liara had already read through Mordin's report to the Council, but she still looked a little awed at the sight of Shepard in person. "Oh!" the asari exclaimed. "I didn't expect her to look so…similar to me."

"Except the whole blue thing," Garrus was quick to point out. Shepard was looking at them expectantly. "Liara," he introduced.

"Liara," Shepard repeated dutifully, raising her hand in a wave.

"Shepard," Liara answered. Then, to Garrus, "You spend a lot of time talking with her. Does she know why I'm here?"

"No. It's, uh, kind of hard to explain in pictures. Or words, even. What _are_ you going to do, exactly?"

Liara looked a little bashful. "I assume that you're familiar with mind melding?"

Garrus nodded. He'd thought it would come to that, except… "Isn't that a little wrong without getting her consent?"

"Oh, it doesn't always have to be for, um, you know," Liara said, looking uncomfortable. "It can just be for sharing thoughts or experiences. Councilor Tevos asked me to receive the knowledge of her language, and perhaps relevant memories about the attack on her ship. I can pass on my own language so that she'll be able to understand me. And that way, she'll be able to use omni-tool programs that translate into asari." Liara fidgeted; so did Shepard, who seemed to be getting bored of waiting and was starting to pick at her odd, blunted claws. "Do you think there's some way you can let her know what's going to happen? It feels a little strange just…well…" Liara looked uncertain, and somewhat guilty. Garrus could understand her trepidation; mind melding was a _freaky _experience the first time, and the fact that it essentially amounted to asari mind-sex…well…it wasn't exactly fair to Shepard. Or to Liara, really.

"I'll try. Shepard?"

At Garrus' mention of her name, the woman turned to him. "Garrus?"

He switched on his omni-tool and brought up the sketchpad. He drew the blue asari figure again. Then, he switched to pink for the pale tone of Shepard's skin, adding the familiar scribble for her hair and the whorled shape of her ears. As Shepard watched attentively, he drew a line connecting the human and the asari heads. Shepard's brow furrowed.

He drew the line again. "Shepard. Liara. Yes?"

She stared at him, looking confused and a little suspicious. "No."

Garrus sighed. It had been a long shot, anyway, that she would understand that. "I can't explain better in pictures, Shepard," he began, subharmonics rumbling in reassurance. "Liara's going to help you talk to us, but she's got to do this asari thing with your head. It'll probably be weird, but it'll be okay. Soon we'll be able to talk and this charades crap will be over." He paused. "Not that it hasn't been fun…" He trailed off at her increasingly blank look and turned back to Liara in frustration. "I just…I don't know. Can you just apologize to her after you can talk to her? Maybe she'll be okay with it and we're getting all worked up about this for nothing."

"I suppose…" Liara nodded, and she turned to look at Shepard, who stared back at her curiously. "Embrace eternity," the asari intoned, and her eyes grew dark.

* * *

It was one of the strangest experiences Shepard had ever had. One moment, she was sitting on her cot, with Garrus and the new blue alien, allegedly called Liara. She'd noticed that the shape of Liara's body was surprisingly similar to her own. _That's why they had clothes for me, _she'd thought. _They have these alien ladies running around that look almost human. Well, except the blue part…and the head tentacles…oh, and no ears. I wonder what else about them is different._

Liara looked a little worried. Garrus had turned to back to Shepard and was trying to explain something to her, but whatever concept it was seemed a little too complicated for the simple mime-speak they'd practiced. And then Liara was looking into her eyes, gaze still distantly apologetic, but then her eyes had gone black and Shepard had felt like she was falling into some kind of void. Suddenly she was awash in memories – fleeting images of Earth, Alliance Command, the Normandy. Her crew – Ashley, Kaidan, Joker, the others. Her ship – and the attack. Four-eyed monsters – _batarians, _the word suddenly came to her out of nowhere – with their assault rifles firing on the engineers in the command center – the sensation of panic when she'd finally run out of ammunition – the surreal dizziness that had set in after the shot to her arm –

And then she came back to herself, gasping. Next to her, Garrus made a worried sound. "Shepard?"

Liara was also reeling, holding her blue, tentacled head. "I am sorry about that, Shepard," Liara said between panting breaths. "I know it can be…disconcerting."

"It's alright," Shepard replied automatically. Then – _wait. Did she just –_ She turned to Liara so quickly she almost fell off the cot, still not having recovered fully from the lightheadedness."Did you just talk to me, and I understood?"

"Yes," Liara said, still trying to catch her breath. "I gave you my language, and learned yours in exchange so that we could communicate. It's a tiring process…I think I'm going to lie down now." And she collapsed onto the cot.

"…_how?_"

"It's something that we asari can do," Liara said, eyes closed. Her voice lapsed into the formalized tone of an academic. "Mind melding is a way of transferring thoughts, memories and feelings. Essentially the process attunes our nervous systems with those of our partners. It's also our primary form of reproduction."

Shepard's lips pursed and she raised one eyebrow, half impressed and half…well, weirded out. Next to her, Garrus stared curiously at Shepard's face, clearly never having seen that expression on her before, and unsuccessfully attempted to imitate it with his own brow plates. "So what you're saying is that we just had mind-sex. Are you going to have my half-alien baby now?" _Because…there's something very wrong about that…_

"No!" Liara's eyes flew open in surprise, and she shook her head in embarrassment. "It wasn't that way at all! I promise. This was only for informational purposes. Nothing else…oh, dear. I should have thought this explanation through." She looked genuinely upset with herself, and Shepard actually began to feel a little sorry for her.

"Just joking," she reassured the asari, though she hadn't been, really. Strange, she thought – _asari _– the words were just there now, in her head. And Garrus was _turian_.

Garrus was outright laughing now at Liara's distress. "Studying a dead species doesn't prepare you much for these interactions, does it?"

"She studies a dead species?" Shepard asked, turning to face him. Then, her expression turned jubilant. "I can understand you too, Garrus?"

She was immediately disappointed by the look of puzzlement on his face, but Liara intervened. "You can understand the asari language now, Shepard. Your omni-tool is now translating his turian speech into asari and feeding those meanings into your mind. But you're still speaking in your own language…English," she said, trying the word out. "So Garrus cannot understand you. Try speaking in asari instead."

Shepard did. "Where am I, Garrus?" she asked, the mellifluous tones of the asari language coming surprisingly naturally to her.

"The Citadel," he answered automatically. Shepard whooped, and they grinned at each other.

"Finally," Shepard muttered. "It's time for some real answers. For starters…what the hell is the Citadel?"

* * *

_We've created a monster_, Garrus thought wryly.

They'd been answering Shepard's questions for the past three hours. Well, _he_ had, at least; Liara had bowed out early, pleading exhaustion from the mind-melding experience, and had left to go report to Mordin, and then rest in the apartments assigned to her by the Council. It had left Garrus to handle Shepard's flood of inquiries alone. And she wanted to know about _everything._

He'd taken out his omni-tool and together they sat on her cot, thumbing through pictures of all the known species in the galaxy. "I'm a turian," he explained. "We come from the planet Palaven. It's got a lot of radiation, which is why we've evolved all this plating to protect us from getting burned up." He gestured to his face casually.

Shepard studied him with interest. "Like armor. May I?" she asked, extending a hand out.

"Only if I get to touch your hair," Garrus blurted. Then he winced. Turians generally didn't let anyone except their mates touch their fringes, and he wondered if there was some similar convention among her species. "Um, sorry if that's a big cultural insult or something. It's just…I've never seen anything like it."

"It's okay, Blue. It's not an insult." Shepard made a crooked half-smile that revealed one dimple and Garrus relaxed, recognizing that particular look as one of amusement. She reached forward and gently ran three fingers down the side of his left mandible, brow furrowed in consideration of the texture. Garrus shifted a little at the unexpectedly intimate touch – she felt cool, soft, and alien, her fingers leaving a whispery trail of sensation– but he let her explore until she dropped her hand and then tilted her own head towards him. With a barely-concealed trill of glee, Garrus reached out and ran his fingers through the soft strands. She'd cleaned them in the sink yesterday, and they felt glossy and almost slithery between his fingers. He couldn't help running his claws through the strands over and over again, watching as they slid smoothly against each other.

"What's its purpose?" he asked.

"To keep our heads warm?" Shepard shrugged. It was an act that he'd realized straddled the line between "I don't know" and "I don't care". "People style it differently according to personal preference," she continued. "Men generally keep it shorter and women longer, but that's not always the case. It comes in different colors and textures, too, depending on where you're from, and it pretty much always turns gray when you get old."

Experimentally, he grasped a handful and tugged gently against her scalp. "It doesn't hurt?" he asked.

"If you actually try to pull it all out at once, it'll hurt like a bitch," she warned, and he let go immediately. "But one at a time, not so much. Just a little sting."

With that experiment complete, Shepard went back to scanning through the omni-tool codex entries, delighted that she could now read as well as speak. "It says here that turians are galactic peacekeepers."

"All of the different species play different roles in the galactic community," he explained. "We're just particularly good at this one because we're all pretty much taught to do our duty from the time we're born. Having the biggest fleet in the galaxy doesn't hurt, either."

Intrigued, Shepard read through the entry on the turian military. "Military service is compulsory starting at 15? Wow…an entire population of soldiers. That sounds incredible." She peered at him calculatingly. "So you must have been a soldier too. What do you do when you're not playing vocabulary games with strange alien prisoners?"

"I'm an investigator for C-Sec – Citadel Security. It's kind of a police force. So, you know, fighting crime, solving mysteries, getting the girls. I do it all," he said with a bit of a swagger.

And she laughed. Hearing it, and seeing her strange, malleable face crinkled in lines of mirth, he suddenly felt like he'd just won some kind of unexpected prize. It was, he realized, the first moment he'd truly connected with her, person to person.

They continued along, and soon the tables were turned as Garrus grilled Shepard about her own people. It turned out that Shepard was a _human_, and they were the predominant species on their planet, Earth. She described the flight of her spaceship, called the Normandy, and their encounter with what Garrus realized must have been an active mass relay on the edge of their system, Sol. When Garrus confirmed her suspicions about the relays being gateways into other star systems, she grew still. "The batarians could return at any time, then," she said. "I have to warn Earth…but unless we have help, there's no way we can defend ourselves if they strike again. The Normandy was our very best, and they cut through her like cheese."

Garrus didn't know what cheese was, but Shepard sounded worried, so he told her about the Council. It was the only place she could turn to for help.

But as they spoke, he realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in a hopeless position. There was no way the Council would help her; they simply had no reason to. With batarians on the move, the Council would dedicate their resources to protecting the Citadel, the home worlds and their own colonies. There was no way they would agree to send any kind of meaningful support to a backwards, unknown world with nothing to offer.

Garrus knew that as a C-Sec agent, his duty was to put the welfare of the Citadel above all. Perhaps he should have been more suspicious of Shepard, or aloof; perhaps others would accuse him of growing too fond too quickly of the strange pink alien who'd become his charge over the last week. But there was something about her that Garrus innately recognized and respected. He had a better sense of the various facets of her personality now that they could actually hold conversations together. Shepard was curious – incredibly so. Every explanation he gave led to another three questions. She also seemed to be practical. Even that first day, he remembered, she'd escaped her cell within minutes of waking up. She was a person of action.

But there was something else that was compelling about her. As he spoke to her, he discovered that she had not been a soldier on the Normandy, but in fact, its commander. The ship and the lives of its crew had been her responsibility. And despite the fact that she'd faced impossible odds during the attack, she accepted no excuses for herself, choosing to bear the full weight of her failure. The need to honor her fallen teammates and ensure her peoples' welfare was what drove her now.

And in his gut, he knew simply that he liked her. She was a good person, full of integrity and honor. He knew she was not going to get what she needed from the Council, and it bothered him – much more than it probably should have.

They had gotten through learning about all the Council races and were discussing batarians when they were interrupted by a businesslike rap on the door. Mordin entered, clutching a datapad in his hand. "Ah, Shepard," he said pleasantly. "Glad to see language barrier no longer an obstacle."

"Mordin," she greeted him. "Thank you for your help. My arm feels almost completely better."

"Certainly," the salarian acknowledged. "Deployed experimental bone growth treatment successfully. Was concerned about adverse side effects: itching, hallucinations, seizures. Pleased to note worries unfounded."

Shepard nevertheless looked a little worried by that revelation.

"Have been monitoring your conversation," Mordin continued without missing a beat. "Wanted to inform you Council wishes to meet tomorrow morning to discuss situation."

Shepard tensed. "What can I expect?"

"Purpose of meeting twofold: observe Shepard and determine course of action," Mordin explained. Then, he shook his head. "Attempted to convince Council through report that Shepard unthreatening to Citadel civilians. Some still suspicious."

"If they think I'm going to go Rambo on everyone, they're probably not going to want to help Earth, are they?" She frowned.

Garrus scratched his head, wondering what a Rambo was, as Mordin replied. "Unsure what aid they will offer, but suspect it will be minimal. Council more concerned about possible batarian attack on Citadel."

Shepard sighed. "I can't see _why _they'd help, to be honest. I can't offer them anything they'd actually want. But I have to try anyway. I owe it to my crew…and to Earth."

"Hey, you never know. We don't know what the batarians were looking for when they went through your relay. Maybe they won't come back to Earth at all," Garrus suggested gently.

Shepard looked at him, her eyes hard and focused. "If it were Palaven, would you take that chance?"

He didn't respond. She already knew the answer.

* * *

As far as Shepard was concerned, the Council meeting had been an abject failure.

She couldn't say she was entirely surprised. She'd argued eloquently for her people, but in the end, they simply had no reason to do anything. All they'd promised her was that eventually she would be spared a ride home and an escort team of diplomats to make official contact with Earth's government. When she protested, the turian councilor went so far as to imply that she should have been grateful they hadn't just put her down when they'd brought her in.

She'd been very tempted to walk out at that point, but she still needed their help, and she wasn't able to doom her planet to alien conquest just because she'd lost her temper.

That didn't mean she wasn't frustrated though. "Politicians are the weeds of the galaxy," she spat. "Hated them on Earth, hate them now."

"Can't say I like them much myself," Garrus admitted. He was escorting her back to her cell, keeping a cautious eye on the onlookers who were staring at the first human they'd ever seen. "Too much talking, not enough action. Plus the Council never wants to deal with anything themselves – they just send Spectres to do all their dirty work for them."

"Spectres?" Shepard asked. So as they moved across one of the bridges overlooking the Presidium, Garrus told her about the Spectres, the elite force of operatives that collectively served as the right hand of the Council.

"They're above the law?" she asked, eyes wide in astonishment. "That sounds like a recipe for trouble."

Garrus hesitated. "Some might think so," he began slowly. "Personally I always thought it would be…liberating. No red tape." Shepard didn't miss the note of longing in his voice, and wondered what he wasn't saying. "Besides," Garrus continued, "the one who found you – Nihlus. He's a Spectre."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And if he wasn't…well, he probably couldn't have brought you here and gotten away with it."

They stood in silence for a moment. It was a lot to take in at once, Shepard thought. Maybe if she had the support of one of the Spectres, she could convince the Council to lend some token defenses to Earth, or at least a more frequent patrol for the Arcturus relay, which led to Charon. Perhaps she could appeal to this Nihlus.

She looked down at the Presidium. It was really a beautiful view, elegant white buildings surrounding a vast lake, lined by thriving green trees. There were a lot of people out, many of them walking along the edge of the lake and enjoying the weather. Garrus had explained that the climate was all simulated, but it didn't mean that she appreciated it any less, especially after a week cooped up in that prison cell.

Looking up, she noticed a line of skycars whizzing by. Suddenly she had an idea. "Hey, Garrus…"

"Hmm?"

She pointed up at the cars. "You think we can take one of those around? I want to see the rest of the Citadel. I'm kind of overdue for a tour anyway, don't you think?" She gave him her most charming smile.

"Oh, uh…" he looked taken aback, and glanced up. "…I don't see why not, I guess. I don't think you're a big Council secret anymore, now that they know you won't Rambo the Presidium." He flared his mandibles at her.

Shepard laughed at the attempt. "Go Rambo on the Presidium," she corrected. "But good try."

* * *

It was wonderful, Shepard thought. Garrus had taken one of the C-Sec issued cars and now they were speeding through the air. From this view, she could see the overall shape of the Citadel, a ring surrounded by five arms. If they opened up, it would be a giant star; if they closed, the Citadel and all its inhabitants would be protected in an impenetrable cylinder.

Garrus' work gave him great familiarity with the various areas of the Citadel, and he pointed them out to her as they flew over. There was the Citadel Tower, where she'd met with the Council, and the ring on which it rested, which was the Presidium. The arms were known as the Wards – Zakera, Kithoi, Tayseri, Bachjret and Shalta. Each one was a self-contained city housing millions, and each one shimmered with lights. It reminded her of New York City or Hong Kong.

Garrus was a good driver, she noticed. "Do a lot of car chases in your line of work, Blue?" she asked.

"Not as many in Investigations," he explained. "Enforcement takes care of that stuff, mostly. But once I did have to chase around a salarian scientist that was involved in illegal organ trading. He was actually growing them inside his own employees." Shepard shuddered, and Garrus winced at the memory. "Didn't catch him, though. He led us on a merry chase in his ship, but they wouldn't fire at him because he was too close to the Wards. So he got away."

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"No," Garrus sighed. "He's not on the Citadel, but I don't know where he went. I put some feelers out after the whole thing, but the guy must have changed his name. Haven't found anything yet."

"Don't give up. You'll find him."

Garrus eventually guided their skycar down to a lookout point near the tip of Zakera Ward. It was a stunning view; behind them, nearly the entirety of the Citadel's structure was visible, and before them stretched the great expanse of space. He parked their car and they walked up together, sitting down side by side in the grass. Some of the other people were staring at Shepard, but she simply waved to them and then ignored them. After a while, they dispersed, reassured that she was not hostile. She was with a C-Sec officer, anyway.

After taking in the view, Shepard closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she considered the events of the previous week. "Hey, Garrus," she murmured.

"Yeah?"

She turned over and regarded the turian at her side. "Just wanted to thank you. For, you know, not shooting me when I tried to escape. Sorry about that, by the way."

He laughed. "To tell you the truth, I was pretty impressed. Didn't expect that out of someone who'd been asleep for five days straight. You'll have to teach me how you jumped over that cot so fast. Never seen that."

"Yeah, well…we're not spiky and covered in a natural coat of armor, but we humans can still do a thing or do." She winked. "Seriously, though…whatever happens with the Council, and with Earth, I'm glad I got to meet you." She grinned over at him, and he flared his mandibles back at her.

"Same here, Shepard."

They sat in companionable silence, and Shepard relaxed as she watched the ships entering and leaving the Citadel atmosphere. _They look so different from Alliance ships_, she thought. _I've never seen anything like them…except that one. That one looks a little familiar…_

Suddenly, she sat up in horror. Garrus' head immediately swiveled in her direction, surprised. "Shepard? What's wrong?"

She pointed at the ship, which was approaching the Citadel docks with speed.

"Garrus…that ship over there. That's the same one that attacked the Normandy." Shepard's eyes narrowed. "And it's coming this way."


End file.
